


Is That What We Are?

by shibarifan01



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shibarifan01/pseuds/shibarifan01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harold hop aboard the clue bus thanks to the powers of the Fusco</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is That What We Are?

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick, fun little thing because it was buzzing around in my head. Pre-slash, not a smidgeon of smut in that one (that's a new one for me!)

 

By the time Finch got to the hospital, after receiving a call from Shaw telling him that they had run into problems while trying to save the number who had gotten on the wrong side of the enforcers of a druglord trying to establish new business by selling Xanqualt, a new Ecstasy-like drug manufactured in Columbia, John was already hooked to saline solutions, pain killers and a series of machines that were purifying his blood. He had been injected with an unknown substance and doctors were trying hard to flush it out of his system before it caused long-lasting damage.  He looked like he was sleeping, the only visible proof of his close call being a bandage on one of his shoulders where he’d been cut by the bowie knife of one of the perpetrators, above the scapula. A white bandage made a swath on one side, front to back so the dressing would not move. 

Finch sat there for a few hours, waiting for John to wake up but when the nurse came by for her regular round, she told him that John was being sedated so he would not be waking for a good many hours, probably not until noon the following morning. She suggested to Finch to go back home and return at that time when John would most probably be awake. After much hesitation, he finally decided to listen to her and left the hospital, still concerned about his friend and employee. It would be a long, sleepless night, but at least he would be more comfortable at home, especially since John now seemed over the worst of it.

When Harold arrived the following morning, with a bag of magazines for John and a large green tea for himself, John was on his side, with his back to Finch, his chest rising softly, seemingly quite comfortable. His hospital gown had almost become untied at the neck and Finch approached the bed gingerly and proceeded to fix the blanket at John’s waist and set about to retie the gown. But he stopped with both his hands hovering barely an inch from John’s back, the disarray of his employee’s clothing making him somehow shy. He felt that he was being allowed to look at something entirely too private, especially with John still out of it. But his hands went to the soft, warm, skin almost by themselves. He ran his fingers over John’s collarbones, massaging the shoulders gently, feeling the stubbly hairs at John’s neck, where his hair made that lovely V at the nape. There was something about that shape, the contrast between the pale skin and the dark hair, that made Harold almost dizzy with want when he looked at it. He brushed his fingers along the black and grey hair, so soft and inviting and, almost hypnotized by it, bent down slowly, closed his eyes, and deposited a soft kiss at the bottom of that lovely place he’d always noticed but had never had the chance to come in close contact with.

“Did you just kiss me, Finch?” said John, almost causing poor Harold to faint dead away. He’d jumped as much as his physical condition allowed and, putting a hand on his heart, waited a few seconds before speaking.

“Don’t flatter yourself Mr. Reese! I thought you were still under sedation and I merely deposited my lips at the nape of your neck while I was retying your hospital gown to preserve your decency, because I wanted to make sure you were not running a fever!” said Finch whose ears had turned a fetching shade of puce.

“Of course, the nurses are not equipped to do those kinds of things,” said John who, turning around gingerly to look at Finch, was finding it very hard to keep a serious face. His eyes were twinkling and his smile kept creeping up despite his most valiant efforts.

“Mphhh!” said Finch, busying himself with emptying the paper bag he’d brought with an assortment of newspapers and magazines. “Here, I brought you some reading material, Mr. Reese.”

“Are you trying to change the subject Finch?” asked John, in his most innocent tone of voice. “It distinctly felt like a kiss to me.” And then, _sotto voce_ , he started: “Harold and John, sitting in a tree….”

“Mr. Reese”, said Finch in his most put-upon voice, “Really? Are you five years old?  You know, those lovely women with whom you spend your free time may be unable to resist your blue eyes, your stubbly chin and your winning ways, but believe me, your flirting arsenal has absolutely no effect on me.”

“And what women would that be Finch? I seem to spend most of my time with you and Bear…”

“What about the lovely Miss Morgan who’s entirely too fond of you, and your friend detective Carter who seems to find you so cute and so exasperatingly charming?  And Miss Shaw whose eyes twinkle every time I mention your name, and that lovely young journalist you saved, and the many numbers of the fairer sex you saved in the past year or so? And that’s just the women… don’t get me started on the men, beginning with our young friend Mr. Pierce? I think even Elias is not immune to your winning ways! Shall I continue Mr. Reese?” Harold asked, turning his head so John wouldn’t see him smiling.

“Well, what can I say Harold, some of us are born with it. It’s caused me more hardship than I care to remember,” said John in his softest, most honeyed voice roughened and made deeper by the tubing they’d just removed a few hours before. Harold couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that.

They continued their easy banter, John looking entirely too pleased with himself, Finch trying to resist being charmed anew by his employee. He knew, however, that resistance was futile and resolved to let himself be carried by John’s enthusiasm. It was so rare that Reese was carefree like that, and since he was out of commission for a few days, it would not be too much of a hardship for Finch to humor him.

They were still talking most amiably half an hour later, John still reclining in his hospital bed and Finch on a chair he’d brought close to the side of the bed, sipping tea and playing absentmindedly with the hospital bracelet on John’s wrist when the door was pushed in loudly and a disheveled Fusco entered as if the hounds of Hades were after him.

“Mr. Glasses, you’ve got to help me. I’ve got the IA guys crawling up my ass and I don’t know how to get rid of them.  Thanks to Mr. Gorgeous-but-deadly here, when I arrived on the scene yesterday, five guys were writhing in pain on the ground and when reinforcement got there, they thought I was the one who’d gone crazy on the perps. It’ll take a while to sort it all out but honestly, any help you can provide me with, I’ll be glad – at this point, even the powers of the Fusco won’t get me outta this one!  I’m off to make some inquiries into the ramifications of that gang, so you can get me on my phone when you have some good news for me. Oh, one good thing, though before I forget! We’ll be getting some good intel because the organizer of this little shit storm is singing like a canary! Speaking of which, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to whatever it was that made you so happy before I got in! See ya!”

And just as quickly as that, he was gone, the door banging behind him. Neither John nor Harold said a word until John cleared his throat and, turning his guileless blue eyes to Finch, asked him: “Is that what we are Finch?”

“What is that Mr. Reese?”

“Lovebirds?” said John, turning his mystified eyes to Finch who snorted through his nose in a very inelegant manner and sprayed green tea everywhere. It was a few minutes before he could get his breath back, and all the while, John looked at him expectantly, waiting for the answer.

When none was forthcoming,  John decided to take the bull by the proverbial… horns and said: “Well, I kind of like it, myself.” He said it very softly turning his head back in front of him, now somehow unable to look Finch in the eye.

After a while, Harold answered: “Well, you know what Mr. Reese? I kind of like it too,” as he proceeded to entwine his fingers with John’s. And holding John’s hand on top of his, Harold bent down and kissed it softly. “Now, Mr. Reese, THAT’s a kiss!”

And John turned to look at him and gesturing with his other hand for Finch to come closer, ran his hand ever so softly behind Harold’s head and angling his head just right, closed his eyes and kissed Finch on the lips with all the tenderness he could muster. “And so is that, Harold.”

 

 


End file.
